More attacks erupted across Stockport and the rest of the county. John Goodair, fearful of more serious threats to his life, decided to flee the town, leaving his wife and children behind. He did not make the choice lightly but he believed that with him out of the picture, he could indirectly protect his family from any further reprisals.

  Tuesday, 12 April 1812 saw the rioting escalate with a fierce intensity. Around 3,000 weavers and loomers gathered and made their way to the mill owned by Thomas Garside. Arrogantly, Garside opted to talk to the crowd, who demanded a minimum wage. Soon the crowd turned nasty, throwing stones at the owner and threatening to kill him. Some in the crowd suggested that Garside was a government spy employed to find the ringleaders. Struggling through the crowd, Garside managed to escape the clutches of the mob and ran towards a cottage, where he was taken in. Fearful that the crowd might still find him, and for the safety of his good samaritan, he left only for the mob to find him once again. Baying for blood, the mob was determined to lynch Garside in the street until the leader raised his hand and told them to let the mill owner go.11

  In Edgeley, a coordinated attack took place once again, this time outside John Goodair’s warehouse. Without her husband to protect her, Mrs Goodair noticed the crowd and managed to flee with her children before they arrived at the family home. Fearing for their lives, the family fled, taking nothing with them. For the rioters, it was rich pickings as they raided the house, taking everything that they could. One of the thieves was later named as Joseph Thompson, who plundered what he could carry. He mainly targeted the silver collection, stealing ‘one silver soup ladle, a quantity of silver spoons, and other articles the property of the said John Goodair’.12

  Enriched by their raid of the Goodairs’ home, Thompson and the others who were there on that fateful day set fire to it, burning everything within. Upon hearing about the destruction of her home, Mrs Goodair wrote:

  Everything, I have since learnt, was consumed by the fire, and nothing left but the shell. The mob next proceeded to the factory, where they broke the windows, destroyed the looms, and cut all the work which was in progress; and having finished this mischief, they repeated the three cheers which they gave on seeing the flames first from our dwelling. It is now nine o’clock at night, and I learn the mob are more outrageous than ever …13

  Joseph Thompson was a forlorn figure as he stewed inside Chester Castle. It had been an ordeal not only for him but also for forty-seven other Luddites who were accused of breaking machines across the county of Cheshire. The only difference between him and the many others, was that he was sentenced to death for his involvement in the rioting. The forty-five individuals who appeared alongside him at the special commission that was held at the Shire Hall had all faced their own outcomes but alongside Thompson only one other man would face Samuel Burrows’ noose.

  John Temples had also been sentenced to death for his involvement in an incident in Adlington on 9 May 1812. The 27-year-old Irish weaver broke into the home of Samuel Wagstaffe with a gang of other Luddites and stole five silver teaspoons and a variety of other apparel. Both Temples and Thompson were punished not only for their involvement in the Luddite rioting but for the stealing of personal property. It was stealing more than the rioting that would eventually see both men attend the gallows at New City Gaol.14

  For Burrows, it could have been an even more profitable session. Eleven Luddites were originally condemned to hang by the neck high above the Cestrian crowds but six of them were given the respite of transportation for life to Van Diemen’s Land among other punishments. Burrows’ disappointment at losing such a lucrative payday left him in a state of depression around Northgate Street as he ventured around the Shambles where he once proudly worked. For now, he was enjoying a kind of double life behind the veil of the anonymity of his new calling. Whenever asked why he looked so low, he simply gave out a slight smile and reassured his former colleagues that he was fine. But inside he was seething as more criminals slipped through his noose.

  It would be an issue that would plague Burrows throughout his career. The courts would often reprieve those condemned to death, either through appeal or by opting for lesser sentences such as transportation. Each time it happened, Burrows felt as though he had personally been let down by a system that was meant to enrich him. But at least he still had two Luddites to execute as he prepared his rope. For now, though, he was busy thinking about what could have been and how it was taken away from him. Morals meant little to him when there was a small fortune to be made.

  Richard Lowndes, William Greenhough, and John Heywood watched on from their cells as they saw John Temples and Joseph Thompson walk past them on their way to the Castle exit. The three men were desperately awaiting the outcome of their appeals against their death sentences but knew full well that the fate that awaited Temples and Thompson could soon be theirs to experience. Burrows had already seen six of the Luddites slip through his fingers and he was hoping that Greenhough, Heywood, and Lowndes would be his next payday soon after he had dispatched Temples and Thompson.15

  Temples and Thompson left the Castle at half past twelve, where they were exchanged at the Gloverstone, Chester’s natural boundary between the city itself and the county in which it lay, before being placed into a cart and paraded through the streets of Chester. Accompanied by a party of the Oxford Blues in order to ensure that no last-minute rescue attempts were made by other Luddites, security was tight across the parade route and thousands lined the streets to catch a glimpse of the condemned.16

  Burrows was already eagerly waiting for them. It had been nearly two years since he last stepped up on the gallows of New City Gaol and he was itching to pull the lever that would send the two men into eternity. His mind wandered to thinking about where their souls would eventually end up. If God was forgiving then the gates of heaven could await them, yet Burrows believed that those who treaded his boards and felt the full wrath of the law were more than likely heading on the road to perdition for an eternity of punishment in the depths of hell. Samuel, although hardly a devout Christian, still believed in the moral compass of right and wrong. Yet the commandment of ‘Thou shalt not kill’, he believed, did not apply to him. Burrows did not see himself as a man who killed but as a man fulfilling the wishes of law and order. In his mind, when the Lord eventually judged him, it would be favourable. A necessary evil that is required to send condemned men toward their own eternal judgement. God’s avenging angel for the people of Chester.

  With the executions following Glover and Proudlove all being successful, Burrows began to feel a sense of arrogance about his work. The fear of failure had subsided and his identity was still largely unknown by the crowd beneath his feet. People were beginning to speculate as to the identity of Chester’s hangman and around the public houses names were being highlighted. On occasions when he heard his name mentioned, he simply smirked and raised his eyebrows. While he was eager to tell people, he continued to hold back for the sake of Mary, Henry, and Charles. Yet it was an itch he simply could not wait to scratch. He was wondering just how much longer he could keep it a secret as he stood behind the curtain.

  Despite being small in stature, Burrows still cut a menacing figure before those he was about to pinion. Standing 5ft 5in, he knew that some convicts could easily tower above him.17 But Burrows was a hardened man. Years of butchery had seen him haul animal carcasses around and, although small in stature, he was full of fight. His aim was always to be two steps ahead of the condemned as he secured them tightly, anticipating any movements from them as they struggled. Most never put up a fight as he walked towards them, staring at them with his piercing grey eyes, and that was the way that he liked it.

  The crowd saw Thompson struggle for nearly seven minutes as he slowly strangled to death. Burrows had placed the knot of the noose by the thick muscle of the neck away from the carotid artery. It would have been an agonising death that shocked the multitude of those who witnessed it. Temples, on the other hand, died almost instantly upon his fall. Burrows’ error with Thompson’s hanging created more of a spectacle in his mind, as he felt little empathy towards the men that died below him.18

  Temples and Thompson hanged for an hour as the crowds slowly departed to continue the rest of their day. It was a sobering reminder of the full force of the law. This was the price that was to be paid by anyone who had the inclination to revolt. For the people of Chester still discussing potential acts of revolution, the hanging bodies of Temples and Thompson were enough to quell it. The authorities believed that their point had been made and the crowd’s silence as the men dropped meant that the people had heard the ferocity of their warning.

  For Burrows though, it was to prove to be a disappointing evening as he was later informed that Richard Lowndes, William Greenhough, and John Heywood were to be pardoned. The noose was once again replaced with the concept of transportation. Change was on the way but Burrows simply shrugged it off. Serious debates were emerging with regard to the death penalty, not just in Chester but in the country as a whole. It was a debate that threatened his very livelihood, his way of life, and also that of his young family.

  Burrows browsed the newspapers with great interest following the execution of Temples and Thompson. While most simply restated the events that unfolded that particular day, some were beginning to become more critical of the practices on top of New City Gaol. The Chester Chronicle was particularly scathing in its assessment, stating:

  When men meet a violent death with such indifference, does it not strongly prove what we have frequently advanced, and which has been long our confirmed opinion, the inefficacy of taking human life. Surely some other punishment, more dreadful than death to the idle and the vicious, may be resorted to; and a thousand times more salutary in point of example to society.19

  Needless to say, Burrows did not agree with them, especially when it came to murderers.

  Chapter 6

  A Very Public Ordeal

  The Executions of John Lomas and Edith Morrey New City Gaol, Chester, 1812 and 1813

  SAMUEL BURROWS COULD hardly contain his excitement when the news came through. It was a case that caused a sensation throughout the papers, not only in Chester itself but across the whole county and even further afield. This would be the execution where everyone would finally know his name and with the double execution of John Lomas and Edith Morrey he knew that there would be little sympathy towards the condemned.

  The prospect of executing a woman might have made many question their conscience but not every hangman had the same type of morality as Burrows. To him, Morrey was a murderer even though she did not commit the murder herself. Instead, he agreed with the local papers, who were busy claiming that she used her feminine powers to persuade her younger lover to murder her husband with the prospect of them running away together. In Burrows’ mind, she had bewitched John Lomas, and that made her just as guilty as him.

  Yet, the executions of Lomas and Morrey were far from straightforward affairs for Burrows. It would be a prolonged series of events that would see Burrows’ work go beyond that of a simple hangman as he would also be responsible for the outcome of Morrey’s still unborn child. But as Burrows prepared for the execution of her younger lover with only a few days’ notice, he knew it would be a longer ordeal for Morrey.

  How Edith Morrey came to stand before Burrows was the case of a classic Georgian scandal. A story of two lovers eager to start their new lives together. However, as with all stories that ended up at Burrows’ scaffold, nothing was ever that simple. These two lovers had someone in their way, a problem that needed to be got rid of. That problem came in the form of Edith’s husband, George Morrey.

  George and Edith Morrey had been married for fourteen years before John Lomas had come on to the scene. By this point in their marriage, the couple had six children, although one had only survived for one year. While George was a successful farmer, Edith’s eyes had begun to wander towards their younger farm hand, Lomas. It wouldn’t take long before an affair between the pair began in the later months of 1811.1

  With George frequently away on business, Edith and John’s affair was becoming more serious. However, the couple’s point of no return came when she discovered that she was pregnant with her younger lover’s child. Now what began as a bit of fun became something much more murderous. What could they do? Well, they could always simply dispatch Edith’s husband. After all, he was the only person standing in their way.

  It was a rather simple plan. They would stage a break-in in which George would confront the burglar and become the unfortunate victim as he struggled with the assailant. The burglar would get away and in doing so leave the pair with no suspicions against them. What could possibly go wrong, they thought to themselves? With their plan now firmly rooted in their minds, all they needed to do was to kill George and get away with murder.

  Hannah Evans slept with the Morrey children in the room adjoining the parlour. As a family servant, the couple knew exactly where she would be at the time they planned their crime. What they did not expect was for her to be a light sleeper who heard the blows to George Morrey’s head and body.2

  A startled Evans made her way to her window to open it. As she did the door opened. It was her mistress, Edith Morrey, whose face she could recognise from the dimly lit candle.

  ‘You mustn’t go out there, Hannah. I think there is a murderer in the house. What if he sees you?’3

  The pair remained together with the children until the coast was clear. When all was quiet, Edith told Hannah to fetch John Lomas, who could alert the neighbours.

  So far their plan was working exactly as they had intended.

  With the neighbours gathered, including George’s brother, they all went to Mr Morrey’s bedroom on the ground floor to see the master of the house. George Morrey was found lying on the floor with his throat slit through his windpipe and damage to his left temple. Underneath his body was a blood-soaked axe. Edith Morrey told them about the break-in but upon closer inspection there was no evidence that anyone did so. The neighbours were now thinking that this was an inside job.

  Soon suspicion rested firmly on John Lomas. What started as someone noticing a small area of blood on his wrist began to escalate as the neighbours inspected the area more closely. Soon they found blood in his room, and traces of blood leading from the stairs into his abode. Then came his clothing with blood stains on them. The neighbours called the constable. Lomas had nowhere to run.4

  William Dooley, the parish constable, arrived on the scene alongside John Groom, who was a special constable and solicitor. Beginning their investigation, Groom questioned Edith Morrey, who was sticking to her story of a break-in. However, to the men of the law, something did not feel quite right.

  Noticing the blood stains leading up to the room where Lomas lodged, they saw a small box. Could this be where the murder weapon was stored?

  They then demanded that Lomas open the box he had kept in his room. Lomas was becoming difficult, arguing with the constables that it was his own personal property. Eventually, he conceded and led the police back to his room, only to find Edith already there. They were in time to see her take something from the box in an attempt to conceal it.5

  While it was not a weapon that Edith was attempting to conceal, it was enough for the constable to take Lomas in for further questioning. Edith was trying to remove another blood-stained shirt. Lomas would go on to say that the blood was from a mare that had been taken to the blacksmith a week prior.

  However, Lomas must have known that the game was up. Dooley took Lomas away from the scene and it was here where he made his extraordinary confession. Lomas confessed that he had in fact murdered George Morrey and then went on to implicate Edith as the principal figure in the killing, telling the constable that she had given him the signal to enter his master’s bedroom when she was sure that George was asleep and handed him the axe.

  Lomas would also go on to state that Edith was there when he killed her husband, holding the candle so he could see what he was doing. She even handed him the razor used to slit Morrey’s throat when it became clear that he was still alive.

  Heading back to the house to arrest Edith for her involvement following Lomas’s confession, they allowed her time to get changed before escorting her away. It was at this moment that Edith attempted suicide by cutting her throat with a razor. Thankfully John Bellyse, a local surgeon, was there. She didn’t cut herself deep enough and was swiftly patched up in order to await justice.6

  Lomas was inconsolable with guilt, while Edith was still remaining steadfast with nerves of steel. The trial would see all of the main characters of this Georgian scandal in attendance. They wouldn’t be alone. With the hysteria of this case sweeping the county of Cheshire and further afield, there was not a spare seat to be taken at Chester County Court.

  Judge Robert Dallas and the jury had heard all they needed to hear during the four-hour-long trial as witnesses came forward to reveal what they knew about the night in question. The jury did not take long to reach their verdict; in fact, according to reports, they did not even need to retire.

  Found guilty of the murder of George Morrey, Judge Robert Dallas sentenced them both to death by hanging at the New City Gaol. Even upon hearing the verdict, Edith remained calm.

  In his summing up of the case, Judge Dallas said:

  As to you Lomas, I think it right to state that, although yours was the hand lifted up against the life of your master, and which affected his destruction with the dreadful axe first, and then the razor, yet you, we have every reason to believe, are the least guilty offender of the two; for it cannot be doubted that in the hardened heart of another was lodged that malice which hatched the plan to execute, through your means, so foul a murder – and I grieve to add, you were but too easily seduced.7

 

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